running out of time
by sarcastic commentator
Summary: best of wives best of women songfic. Alexander Hamilton was writing a letter, he could have written it better, but still, it's the last thing he will ever write. Please, let it not be the last thing he will ever write.


**hi! giving credit where credit is due, i do not own the lyrics for best of wives and best of women, nor do i own Alexander Hamilton: an American Musical. please enjoy, and please, please comment!**

He had to finish the letter. He had to finish his report on Manufactures. He had to finish a campaign he had promised Lafayette before his friend had vanished to France. Too many things, too little time. He had to finish it all tonight, for he may not live to see the sun set tomorrow. Hamilton shook his head quickly, of course he would survive, he had no reason not to; everything was aligned in his favour. He would talk his way out of danger, like he always did. _Besides,_ his ever-active brain reasoned, _Burr has no gain in killing you. It will not help his political career, and he will have to live with the burden of killing someone, which would cause no end of trouble for him, even years in the future._

Alexander sighed to himself, trying his best to banish the words haunting him, swirling around him like the hurricane his childhood island of St Croix had been devastated by, something he still suffered nightmares from. he had to finish the letter to Eliza; it might as well be the last thing he wrote. He set his flowered quill down, a gift from Laurens, he remembered as he took in the intricate patterns on the feathers. The quill had been a "funny" present, the last one he had received from his best friend. Blinking fiercely, he sent the tears starting to prick at his eyelids back to the depths of his being, where they came from. His emotions were on an overdrive, and the idea to use the quill had been a bad one anyway.

He looked at the clock above his desk, determined to lose himself in his work yet again, but gave a start when he realised it was already quarter to five, and he had to pay a visit to his son's grave at dawn. He reread the letter, he could have written it better. If only he had more time, the one thing that God could never really give him enough of. Nothing was ever perfect, nothing was ever done to the best of his abilities.

He whiled away the precious minutes, sitting at his desk, staring at nothing, trying to coax himself into leaving his desk and rowing across the Hudson. That was when he heard his wife from across their home,

 _Alexander come back to sleep_

He sighed, he never meant to wake Eliza as it would only make leaving harder, and he could never express himself to her as eloquently as he could on paper. Then, his precious words wouldn't get stuck in his throat, wanting to come out but never really conveying their true meaning. Still, he hated himself as he lied to her, perhaps making the last words he ever uttered to her lies.

 _I have an early meeting out of town_

He was doing the right thing, wasn't he?

 _It's still dark outside_

She said, her voice soft and husky from sleep. Eliza sat up, taking in the half-dressed figure in front of her, wondering if he had ever come to their bed at all that night. She saw the dark silhouettes of trees from their window and guessed that it was almost light, there was no point in going back to sleep now. Still, she almost never saw her husband anymore, and perhaps they might have some quiet minutes together before he went to work, and she had to tend to the children?

 _I know_

Alexander replied, sounding resigned, he could never comprehend the beauty his wife exuded, he never had been able to. From when they were merely children that fateful night at the Winter's Ball, to now, as she sat on the edge of their bed, a soft smile on her face, her figure perfect even after 8 children, age and smile lines tracing across her features.

 _I just need to write something down_

He could have written it better, that letter would be the last impression she might get of him. He could have written it better…. written it better…

 _Why do you write like you're running out of time_

She asked him, her tone light. He could still pick out traces of sadness in her voice. Eliza smiled, feeling many emotions churn to the surface. Nostalgia, from when they were both young, excited newlyweds; happiness, for how far they had come after that; but most of all, she felt resigned to the fact that she would always get that nagging feeling in her stomach, the feeling that she would never be enough.

She was proud of Alexander, she really was, he had gone out into the world and made a difference. He had created a legacy from nothing. Still, that seemed like the only thing he ever cared about, ever will care about. She would have been satisfied with a simpler life, happy without the parties and galas, the meetings before light. Still, her husband was never satisfied, and she would go with him, wherever he went, and through whatever he endeavoured to do.

 _Shhh_

 _Come back to sleep, that would be enough_

It would be enough, it really would. Even when they were young, all she had wanted for her family to be whole. She had even been driven to writing to General Washington, begging him to send Alexander home. It was all she ever wanted to have a whole family; and the only thing he wasn't able to provide.

 _I'll be back before you know I'm gone_

He reassured her confidently. Still, it was another lie. He shivered, but not from the cold, there was a feeling in the pits of his stomach, one that he knew was telling him to stop, to go back. It was his voice of reason; well, he never listened to it anyway…

it was for the best, white lies never hurt anyone. Now he was lying to himself. He knew it, but kept going nevertheless.

 _Come back to sleep_

Eliza pleaded as he got dressed, packed a quill and a gun. She couldn't help smiling slightly; the pen always had been, always will be, mightier than the sword for Alexander Hamilton. He would go to his meeting, and she would be alone for the day. Then, the letter would arrive, saying he was stuck there, and could she go on another week? Of course she could. Oh, she knew the routine, she knew it very, very well.

 _This meeting's at dawn_

He said. At least that much was true. Still, he couldn't shake the cold feeling that had been haunting him since he had gotten the letter from Burr, proclaiming that he had had enough, how could a bastard orphan disgrace him like that? He didn't think the feeling would ever leave him. Little did he know how right he was.

 _Well, I'm going back to sleep_

She told him resignedly. Let him do whatever he wanted. She was never able to stop him, she never would be able to stop him. From the moment she had set her eyes on Alexander Hamilton, she had been helpless.

Alexander rushed to their bed, _her bed,_ she thought bitterly, _how many nights had he spent sleeping at his desk?_ Still, she felt a smile slip onto her face when she saw he was staring at her with nothing less than unadulterated adoration in his eyes.

 _Hey, best of wives, and best of women_


End file.
